


You All Know The Score

by notquitepunkrock



Series: post-war potter [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (its implied but yeah), Character Study, Developing Friendships, Disabled Character, Gen, Hogwarts House Sorting Ceremony, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, One Shot, POC Hermione Granger, POC James Potter, Past Abuse, Trans Female Character, bc the black parents suck, its implied but its intended to be there, luna and rolf are divorced and im kind of sorry but not as much as i should be, or like implied anyway, tags keep getting longer jfc, the lightest bit of angst, unintentional misgendering ?, unless someone asks for more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/notquitepunkrock
Summary: The Sorting Hat takes its job seriously; the sortings of major characters through the years





	1. The Sortings of 1971, 1973, 1991, and 1992

**Author's Note:**

> to molly, who asked for this nonsense

When McGonagall called Sirius Black’s name, he walked up to the stool with shaking legs. The audience rolled their eyes, expecting the obvious outcome. Here was a Black, and he would be in Slytherin with his cousins - the crazy one, the cold one, the weird one - with his parents, with every family member worth remembering. The Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, obscuring long black hair. Sirius gripped the stool with sweaty hands, knuckles going white from fear.

The Hat was concerned for the pale, gray-eyed boy and the way he shook, but it had a job to do. There was no concerning itself with matters out of its control.

Its first instinct was Slytherin, because every Black is ambitious and cunning and clever, but this boy made it pause. There was the cleverness, the sharp sense of cunning, but beneath and behind it there was proof of more. The Hat skimmed through memories of standing up to Walburga Black and her wicked glares, of talking back to Orion and his tight grip on a gnarled cane. The ability to look fear in the face and say not today, the way he strode up to James Potter with thoughts of  _ stay away from the Potter boy, their family is no good _ and held out his hand and became fast friends anyway. This was no snake. Sirius Black was not driven by an ambition to live, but rather a wild bravery and determination.

“Please, please don’t put me with them,” the boy whispered, and the Hat’s mind was made up.

“Well in that case,” it replied, ripping at the seam and projecting to the waiting crowd, who were confused by the length of time for an obvious sorting. “GRYFFINDOR!” 

Its cry sent shockwaves through the crowd. Tiny, brave Sirius Black ignored his cousin Bella’s sharp glare and held his chin high as he made his way to the still silent table draped in red. He slid beside a pair of tall redheaded twins and gave a lazy smile and introduced himself as “just Sirius, thanks,” and soon the table was roaring with applause, because it was already clear he had a lion’s heart.

* * *

Lily Evans was making her way to the stool almost before her name finished leaving McGonagall’s mouth. She strode forward with determination in her green eyes and only the faintest blush of nerves on her freckled cheeks, sitting confidently on the stool as the hat dropped over her eyes until all the could be seen of her were pale arms and the bright red hair that tickled them. 

“I don’t care what Sev says, I know I’m not a Slytherin,” she said with certainty and just a hint of guilt.

The Hat would have rolled its eyes if it had any. Oh Morgana, she was one of  _ these  _ types. It didn’t know who Sev was, and it didn’t particularly care, but it had known the moment it’d touched her head that he clearly did not have a gift for Sorting.

“As a matter of fact, you aren’t,” it agreed tiredly. A small girl with scars criss-crossing her legs from too many adventures, the kind who stood up to her older sister shouting  _ I’m not a freak _ , and fought with her best friend when he was mean, the girl who’d punched away dozens of bullies, she was no Slytherin, that much was sure. She was whip-smart, would do well in Ravenclaw, but there was an edge like the sharpness of a knife to her intelligence, a reckless bravery and sense of righteousness that was rarely seen in girls so young. 

“You certainly aren’t,” the Hat repeated, “because you’re a GRYFFINDOR!” 

Lily slid easily off the stool, setting her delicate jaw. She spared Sev only a moment’s guilty glance and shrug before plopping herself amongst her house, right beside a round redheaded girl whose Head Girl badge gleamed against her robes, and whispered something about getting the best seat in class, and there was no doubt that she was Gryffindor to her toes. 

* * *

Remus Lupin approached the stool with shaking hands, scars pink against his pale skin. The hat nearly covered his entire head, the tall boy so thin that there was nothing for it to rest upon. He swallowed harshly and screwed his eyes shut and whispered apologies for his werewolf blood with a guilt that no eleven-year-old should feel.

The Hat soothed him. It didn’t care about blood or DNA, just the things that made you belong. And here was a small boy who’d gone through dozens of horrible painful transformations, was locked in a basement to howl and hurt, whose father couldn’t stop looking at him with pain in his eyes. This boy had stumbled through the Alley all on his own, because his father was embarrassed to be seen in public and his mother was the only one who could work, who had stuttered his way through interactions with shopkeepers and held up his wobbling chin when he thought others were staring.

There was a lion’s mane hidden under his mop of golden-brown curls, so the Hat surprised the frail boy by tearing at the seam and shouting “GRYFFINDOR!” at the top of it’s lungs. He stumbled down to the cheering house and was hugged ‘round the neck by Sirius Black and pink flooded his pale cheeks, and it was obvious that this was the place that Remus belonged.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew approached the stool too fast, tripping over his own feet and nearly tumbling into the seat. He tapped his chubby fingers on his lap and bit his lip and mumbled about how “I already know I belong in Hufflepuff, so just rip the plaster off quick.” 

“Hush, boy,” the Hat grumbled, because the meek ones were always so sure and they almost never belonged there. And of course, Peter was no different. 

It didn’t take long for the Hat to see how scared he was of his own shadow, the bullies he’d ignored instead of running or fighting back, the way he’d shook with fear at the thought of leaving the muggle life he’d always known and going to a school for magic. But it also saw a boy who’d squared his shoulders and climbed aboard a train to Merlin Knows Where, the quiet breakdown in the bathroom before he set a smile on his face and slipped into a compartment with some boisterous Slytherin second years as if nothing was the matter. He’d steeled his nerves and crawled into a boat with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin and another boy and made jokes and pretended he didn’t want anything more than to go home, and it was that quiet bravery that had the Hat convinced he was no Hufflepuff.

“I already read about it, and there’s really nowhere else I could belong,” he was stuttering, curling his sweaty fingers in the thick fabric of his pants.

“That’s where you’re wrong, my boy,” the Hat replied kindly. “You’re really more of a… GRYFFINDOR!” 

Peter squeaked and stumbled to his feet, tripping to the table and nearly landing himself in Remus Lupin’s lap. The thin boy righted him and smiled comfortingly, and soon home didn’t seem quite so far away anymore. 

* * *

The time between James Potter’s name being called and him taking a seat beside Sirius Black at the Gryffindor table probably totaled a little less than a minute. He awkwardly made his way up to the stool and flashed a semi-confident grin as he sat down, white teeth bright against his darkly tanned skin for only a moment before the hat was dropping down over his messy dark hair and covering his eyes.

The Potter family was a long line of Gryffindors, nearly as long as the Blacks in Slytherin, and James was no exception. He was wild and reckless, as plenty of skinned knees and broken bones attested. He was the sort of boy who did things because he’d been dared to do them or told not to, one whose knees were a lighter brown than his legs from the number of plasters covering them. 

There was a loyalty there too, one that was stronger than any the Hat had ever felt. A loyalty that meant the sort of boy who would die for or kill for a friend. This was the sort of loyalty paired with reckless bravery that belonged in gold and red, and the hat announced, “GRYFFINDOR” to an unsurprised crowd mere seconds after landing on his head.

James swaggered off the stool, collapsing beside Sirius Black and throwing his arm around his new friend’s neck as if they’d known each other for years rather than hours, brown skin glowing under the golden lights strung over his house’s table. Yes, James Potter was perhaps the most Gryffindor boy the Hat had seen since Godric himself, and no one in the Wizarding World was the least bit surprised by it.

* * *

Regulus Black balled his small hands into fists as he approached the stool, looking otherwise completely indifferent to the sea of faces turned towards him. His heart pounded in his chest as he sat down, but his face betrayed no emotion, schooled into the cold expression that every Black had mastered from birth.

The Hat slid over his eyes, and he let out a breath, the coldness slipping off of his face. The Hat recognized this from the boy’s cousins, Narcissa and Andromeda, the trained perfection that disappeared when the world looked away.

“I know I’m not a Gryffindor, but I don’t want to be alone,” he muttered to the Hat. “Please don’t let me be alone.”

Regulus Black was not a brave child. The Hat could tell from the moment he was dropped onto the boy’s head. He was a Slytherin through and through, made clear by the clever lies he told to get out of trouble, the ability to grit his teeth and smile politely to get what he wanted. “You won’t be alone,” the Hat chided softly. “Talk to your cousin Andromeda, you have more in common than you think.”

The small boy faltered, but before he could respond, the Hat was yelling “SLYTHERIN” to no surprise of the crowd. He schooled his expression back to normal and walked gracefully to the table, sliding into a space beside Andromeda. His brother’s face fell for only a moment, before his cheers carried across the hall, over the booing of the rest of his table. He refused to let his baby brother be alone.

* * *

There wasn’t silence or even much curiosity as Hermione Granger made her way to the stool at the front of the Great Hall. The tiny muggleborn with the bushy curls was nothing special to them, not yet. She set her jaw and strode forward, eyes locked on her destination. Her shiny shoes squeaked on the stone floor, but it was too loud in the hall to take notice.

She screwed up her eyes as the Hat settled onto her mane of hair, determination filling her small frame. She sat stiffly, almost holding her breath as it muttered something about finding her difficult to place.

“You’d do well in Ravenclaw,” it muttered thoughtfully, taking note of the number of facts and figures stuffed into her head, the near perfect memorization of each of her textbooks. There were memories of years of her young life spent tucked into corners with ancient tomes nearly as big as she was, and dozens of images of her small brown hand sticking straight up at the front of the classroom, eager to answer the teacher’s questions.

“There’s a ‘but’ there, isn’t there,” Hermione sighed, sweaty palms twisting in the fabric of her uniform. It had that tone, the one teachers used before reprimanding her for being too outspoken in class. She hated that it was using it on her.

The Hat simply chuckled. “Give me a moment, my girl,” it chided, filing her impatience away for reference. She harrumphed, curling her toes inside of her socks.

It could feel her nerves eating away at her the longer it deliberated, chewing on the dead skin of her lips anxiously. The Hat prodded her mind a bit further, and suddenly the reason she didn’t seem to fit Ravenclaw became clear.

Hermione wasn’t just smart, and though she was clever as a Slytherin and as hardworking as a Hufflepuff, she was also painfully loyal and brave. This small girl had stood up to bullies three times her size, correcting their grammar and pronunciation even as they threatened her with fists raised. She had ignored endless teasing and now here she sat, anxiously awaiting her fate, and instead of getting upset, she merely rolled her eyes at the Hat’s hesitance. 

“You’d do well in Ravenclaw,” it reiterated, ignoring the huff of annoyance she let out. “But you truly belong in... GRYFFINDOR!” 

The crowd erupted into cheers and she stalked to the table lined in red, her dark curls bouncing like the mane of the lion that she would soon prove to be.

* * *

Neville Longbottom couldn’t stop shaking, stumbling and tripping his way up to McGonagall with the overlarge hat in her hands. It covered his whole head when he finally sat down, sliding over his large ears too easily and nestling somewhere just above his chin. 

He didn’t say anything, but seemed to be on the verge of panic as the Hat sorted through his mind. It was almost concerning how small and scared this boy was, but there was something there, some sense of bravery that was almost undetectable, but grew stronger the longer he sat.

“Gryffindor,” the Hat muttered, trying out the word on its nonexistent tongue. Something about it felt right, and the longer it sat on the boy’s head, the more it was sure.

After all, tiny Neville Longbottom had been dropped out of a window mere months ago, and had stood up to his grandmother, the ever-intimidating Augusta Longbottom on a fair few occasions. He looked his lost mother in the eye and pretended it didn’t bother him to know that he had no parents in the traditional sense when people like that Malfoy boy who’d teased him endlessly at Ministry functions had two. He’d even dared to bring a toad to the castle who seemed to dislike him almost as much as he disliked himself out of sheer determination to treat the creature with the love and kindness he never seemed to be afforded himself.

“I’m sorry, what?” Neville squeaked, the back of his neck turning bright red.

“You’re a Gryffindor, boy, I’m as sure of it as I would have been if placed upon the man’s head himself,” it replied firmly. Neville clenched his tiny fists.

“You’re wrong,” he said, voice quavering. “I’m nothing like my mum and dad, even Gran says so. I’m not a Gryffindor, I’m not brave enough. I think I’d be much better suited to Hufflepuff, thank you.” 

The Hat grunted in annoyance. One of these, was he? “I’m never wrong,” it argued. “You’re no Hufflepuff. You’re kind and hardworking, I’ll give you that, but you’re a brave boy and the way you value your parents’ bravery is plenty reason enough to send you there.”

Neville dug his fists into his thighs. “I’m not a Gryffindor, I don’t belong there,” he argued, tears pricking at his eyes. The Hat could feel his frustration, could feel the inadequacy that had plagued Neville his whole life. “Can’t you tell how scared I am? I’m a coward.”

The boy sounded resigned, and the Hat decided he was probably in need of a good hug. He’d always heard people could use those when they were upset, and it didn’t appear he’d ever had one like that since he was a baby. “You can be frightened and still be brave,” the Hat said finally, after letting him sit in silence for a long moment until he calmed down. Neville didn’t reply.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the Hat yelled. Neville jumped, and scrambled to his feet, nearly forgetting to remove the Sorting Hat from his head before he scampered to a seat across the table from Hermione Granger, next to an Irish boy who’d just been sorted named Seamus Finnegan. He stammered out a hello and sunk into the seat, and the smiles he received back made him feel as though he might really belong.

* * *

The Hat was entirely unimpressed when Draco Malfoy was called. Every part of him stank of a privileged childhood, from the way his nose stuck in the air and the small smirk on his face, to the perfectly smooth, pale skin and narrowed gray eyes. It had barely grazed his slicked back blond hair before frantic desire to prove himself to his father, to be a Slytherin and rise to the top flooded the boy’s mind.

The Hat didn’t even leave McGonagall’s hand before the word “SLYTHERIN” was echoing through the hall, the small boy’s smirk hiding the breath of relief he heaved at the sound.

* * *

Ron Weasley approached the stool quickly, his cheeks bright red underneath his freckles. When the Hat landed on his head, he looked very much like he’d like nothing more than to fold up his long limbs and disappear. 

He flinched as the hat fell over his head, stopping just below his blue eyes when it caught on his large ears. The Hat nearly chuckled at the sheer fear radiating from the boy. It was just a hat, after all. 

“Another Weasley, eh?” the Hat said instead, causing Ron to jump at the unexpected commentary. “Don’t tell me there’s more of you. Seems half the sortings I do anymore are from your family.”

Ron’s already red cheeks darkened even more. “There’s just Ginny left next year,” he replied, lips moving around the silent words. 

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” it muttered. “Alright then, boy let’s see what we’ve got.”

The boy’s hands shook at his sides, but despite the very clear fear in every inch of his body, Ron didn’t run or cry or panic. He simply ignored the eyes on him and the dread in his stomach as the Hat sorted through feelings of inadequacy and a near-crippling fear of failure, past standing up to older brothers and neighborhood bullies, an eye always on his younger sister as he stood prepared to jump in to protect her even as he stumbled over his words. 

“What do they put in the water there?” the Hat chuckled, before yelling “GRYFFINDOR,” to an entirely unsurprised crowd. The tension left Ron’s body and he ran to a seat beside Harry Potter, wrapping the smaller boy in a joyous hug and receiving pats on the back from three older brothers.

* * *

Luna Lovegood was a small waif of a girl, with blonde hair that brushed the tops of her shoulders and big blue eyes. She drifted up to the stool with a dreamy look in her eyes, almost as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

When the hat landed on her head, it covered nearly down to her mouth. She let out a small giggle. “Hello there,” she thought, and the Hat startled at her straightforwardness. “My mother said you were a bit intimidating, but my father is simply fascinated by you.”

The Hat hummed in interest. “And what do  _ you _ think of me?” it asked her. The small girl tilted her head, blinking her large blue eyes for a moment as she thought about the question. The Hat took this time to sort through her mind, taking careful note of her wide-eyed wonder and fascination with learning, the times she had assisted her mother in her laboratory and the times that she’d listened with wide-eyed wonderment as her father spoke to her of things he believed to be absolutely true. It watched fragile hands sweeping across the walls, covering the lower half, where she could reach, with bright paintings of fantastical creatures that seemed to come from a talent far beyond her years.

“I think you’re very interesting,” she said finally, smiling softly. “You have one job to do year after year, but you do it so brilliantly. I wonder how it works.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, as if Luna knew that the Hat didn’t even know itself.

The Hat let out a low chuckle. She was so like her parents. Her mother, Pandora Fortescue, had argued with the hat quite amusingly for several minutes until she’d been placed in Hufflepuff. Her father had been an amusingly dreamy boy, peppering the hat for several long moments with questions about magic and magical creatures until the Hat had interrupted him to send him into Ravenclaw. Luna seemed to be a soft-spoken balance of the two.

“You’re a bright mind, Luna Lovegood,” it said kindly. “You’d be best suited to… RAVENCLAW.”

The table draped in blue applauded with only a little confusion as the small new eagle flounced her way to a seat beside an older girl named Cho. She gazed up at the Hat with sparkling eyes and made a comment to her neighbor about how interesting the spells on it must be. Despite how odd she was, Luna clearly belonged there. 

* * *

Ginny Weasley strode up to the stool, only hesitating slightly before she sat down. Her red hair was messy, falling into her face and her small hands balled into tight fists at her sides, but she didn’t seem to be afraid of the eyes on her. In fact, they simply seemed to bolster her confidence as the hat was dropped onto her head, sinking down to cover her dark eyes.

“So you’re the last Weasley, are you?” it asked, chuckling at the way she lifted her chin in defiance and her brown eyes blazed.

“So what if I am?” she asked pointedly, the tips of her ears turning bright red. “We’re the best family in all of Britain, Bill always says so.”

The Hat resisted the urge to chuckle again. “I’ll leave that to you to determine,” it said coolly, amusement tinging it’s tone. “Let’s just find your house, why don’t we?”

Ginny seemed like an obvious Sort at first. She had the Weasley bravery in spades, perhaps even more so that most of her brothers simply from being the only girl in the family. She wasn’t afraid of getting dirty, wasn’t afraid of much of anything it seemed. Perhaps the only thing that caused her to stumble was a near-paralyzing crush on Harry Potter, but that could happen to anyone. She was loud and wild and reckless most of the time, just like the man the house had been named for. 

Except.

Except there was something else there, a dark ambition coiled at the back of her mind like a snake waiting to strike. The Hat prodded gently at it, but it didn’t budge. Something about it seemed foreign, like it didn’t belong amongst memories of Exploding Snap games and sneaking out to ride her brothers’ brooms and hiding from her mother when chores were to be done. It would have frowned if it could, feeling something akin to concern but it filed the information away to bring up to Dumbledore if need be.

“No surprises here, young lady,” it said at last, and her lips curled into a shy smile. “You’re about as brave as they come. GRYFFINDOR!”

She slid from the stool and ran down to the Gryffindor table, red hair flying as she sought out her siblings. Ginny slipped in between Fred and George with a grin and reached across the table to high-five Hermione Granger, a grin stretching across her freckled face.


	2. The Sorting of 2009

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally no one asked for this but I got bored, so here we go

Teddy Lupin’s legs shook as he approached the Sorting Hat, hair changing from blue to pink to brown to red to black and back again every other second. His dark eyes - the deep brown that they were when he left them alone - darted around the room in the seconds before the Hat was dropped over his head, and then he screwed his eyes shut tight and held his breath.

He was too used to being surrounded by family. There was no family here.

The Hat hummed in interest at the number of redheads in this small boy’s memory. “A Weasley, are you?” it asked curiously. “Didn’t realize Lupin’d married into the family.”

Teddy’s eyes opened, and he blinked in confusion. “Er, no,” he stammered. “My godfather’s Harry Potter. My mother was Nymphadora Tonks.”

The Hat hummed thoughtfully. “You’re an awful lot like your mother,” it said, peering at memories of a tiny boy standing up for his friends as his hair violently flashed between colors and clinging to his godfather’s hand tightly as they wandered through Diagon Alley. There an unbreakable loyalty in his tiny body, one that went far deeper than most. A kindness too, with the gentle way he doted over the smallest Weasley children, the amount of love in his thin body reserved for his large family.

There was no denying it, none at all. Teddy was nothing if not a badger, and to place him anywhere else would be wrong. The Sorting Hat was never wrong.

“It’d better be HUFFLEPUFF!” it shouted finally, and Teddy jumped. He slid off the stool and crossed the Great Hall to the Hufflepuff table amidst deafening cheers. He screwed up his face and let his hair turn bright yellow streaked through with black, his cheeks hurting from smiling so widely as he sat amongst the other badgers.

* * *

Ivy Wood crossed her arms defiantly in the face of the whispers at the sound of her name. Her dark eyes glittered with amusement as she glanced around. She wanted to tell her sisters about this, the way everyone stared like she was something special just because of her name. Sure, she _was_ something special, but her father had nothing to do with it.

The Hat dropped onto her head, obscuring her eyes and resting gently just below the bridge of her nose. “Another Wood, eh? I was wondering when you’d come around,” it mused.

Ivy grinned. “There’s two more of us in the next couple of years, my sisters aren’t much younger than I am,” she told it. The Hat chuckled. Oliver Wood had been an interesting sort, far more preoccupied with thoughts of quidditch than with starting classes and making new friends. The fact that he had any children at all was almost surprising.

“Let’s find where you belong, shall we?” it asked, though it already had a bit of an inkling. Sure enough, her confidence extended far beyond the surface, all the way back to when she was small, right when she’d first been adopted by her father. This was, after all, a girl who'd grown up in the spotlight, who'd learned from a young age how to make sure all eyes were on her. And yet she’d stood up for her sisters plenty of times, pushing herself forward so they could hide behind her. She dragged them around place to place, never pausing to wonder what sort of dangers may exist. And despite being so young, she was a wonder on a broom, nearly as fierce a flyer as her famous father. 

There was a distinct lack of fear in everything Ivy did. She was brave, braver even than her father, braver even, possibly, than the boy-who-lived, the one that had been sorted nearly twenty years before.

The hat tore at its seam. “GRYFFINDOR!” it cried, the word echoing through the hall. Ivy grinned as she slid off the stool and walked proudly to the table, head held high. She was already a lion through and through.


	3. The Sorting of 2011

Victoire Weasley hesitantly made her way to the stool at the front of the Great Hall. She had been cool and collected at the beginning of the sorting, but as time wore on and it dragged out, her nerves had slowly started to get the best of her. Being born at the start the baby boom following the war meant her class was especially large, and that had been more than evident as Professor Flitwick’s small voice called out nearly every name besides her own.

Now, at last, Vic sat down, sparing a small glance around the Hall to find Teddy smiling brightly at her from the Hufflepuff table. Some of her nerves fled at the sight, before she returned her gaze to her knees. The Hat dropped over her silky blonde hair, and she took a deep breath.

“The first Weasley in a while,” the Hat said, and Vic prided herself on not jumping at its voice.

“Don’t worry, there will be plenty soon,” she replied drily, tension leaving her shoulders at the sound of the Hat’s warm chuckle. “There’ll be one of us nearly every year for ages.”

The Hat hummed, and she felt the distinctly invasive feeling of having it sift through her mind. “Well, you’re certainly brave,” it mused. Vic’s heart swelled. That meant she’d be a Gryffindor. She wouldn’t be a disappointment after all. “I think most everyone in your family has more than their share of bravery.”

She shifted in her seat and sighed. “I’m sensing a ‘but,’ Mr. Hat,” she said, heart sinking again.

The Hat chuckled. She was right of course. Vic was always right. Just from briefly probing her mind, it could see that, and could see it wasn’t from any amount of self-importance but simply the fact that she seemed to know everything. “But you’re no lion,” it began. “You’re whip smart. It’s been years since I’ve seen so much knowledge in so small a head.” 

“I was worried you’d say that,” she said, and resisted the urge to rest her chin in her hand. She could tell it’d been longer than expected by the sounds of movement throughout the hall. She hoped she wasn’t a Hatstall. That would be embarrassing.

“That sort of practicality will do you wonders in RAVENCLAW,” the Hat announced. Vic let out a small sigh. She wasn’t a Gryffindor. Her grandfather would be dreadfully disappointed. 

(Never mind the disappointment in her own chest at the knowledge that she  _ didn’t belong _ in her family, an eagle nesting in the lion’s den. She could practically hear Rita Skeeter’s pen scratching out the question that had been asked a thousand times before -  _ was the girl they call Victory’s Child the product of an illicit affair? Was she even a Weasley at all?  _ )

But then a cheer from the Hufflepuff table made her look up, and there was Teddy, standing on the bench and whooping louder than anyone, even in her own house. On the other side of the hall was Ivy Wood, clapping so hard her hands were turning red. If her friends could be proud of her, then that might be enough.

Vic squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as she made her way to the Ravenclaw table. If she was going to be a disappointment, then Morganna willing, she’d be the best disappointment she could be.

\----

Olive Wood’s small bones cracked as she sat down, and she rubbed at her aching wrists. Her sister shot her an encouraging smile from the Gryffindor table before the Hat obscured her eyes, falling down below the chin of the frail little girl.

“Another Wood,” the Hat said, and she could hear the concern in its voice. The pity for small, weak, sad little Olive Wood, who’d seen more horrors in her short life than most people would ever see. 

“Don’t pity me,” she snapped, though the Hat could see her guilt immediately afterwards. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like pity.”

“It’s alright,” the Hat agreed. “I should be the one apologizing. Let’s see where you belong now, shall we?”

It began sorting through memories of dark curses being used on a girl too young to understand them, years of screaming as the remnants of those curses wreaked havoc on her body for years afterwards. Coming out of her shell after being adopted by Oliver Wood, until she became the spitfire sitting there now. By all accounts she could be a Gryffindor except…

Except there was a cleverness there, and a determination and desire to seek revenge on her biological parents. There was something inside of her that just didn’t match up with her otherwise brave and wild existence.

“It’d better be SLYTHERIN,” it called, to the surprise of Olive and pretty much everyone else in the Hall. There was a near silence for a moment, before there was a loud cheer from Gryffindor, Ivy cheering loudly for her younger sister. Olive grinned brightly, and made her way to the Slytherin table as the rest of the students began to clap.

There was a silver glint in her eyes as she sat down that proved she was a Slytherin to her core.


	4. The Sorting of 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet skeet skiddo
> 
> there's so many ravenclaws in this one, like 3/4 are ravenclaws so many smart kiddos what the heck

When Flitwick called out Olivia Goyle’s name, she shoved her way out of the line of first years and strode to the front of the Great Hall. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously from her round face as the hat dropped over her eyes.

The Hat hummed in interest at the girl’s wickedly smart mind, the anger in her eyes combined with an intelligence far beyond her years. It was mere seconds before it ripped at the seams and screamed “RAVENCLAW” loud enough for the audience to hear.

* * *

 

Lorcan Scamander walked up to the stool with his eyes locked on the stone floors of the Great Hall. His pale blonde curls fell into face, blocking his view of the students staring at him with curiosity.

When the Hat fell onto his head, it was immediately struck by the insecurity filling the skinny boy’s mind. This was a vast comparison to the boy’s mother, with all her silent, whimsical confidence. But just like her, there was a certain air of intelligence that couldn’t be ignored, a wit and creative mind that would be left to wither in the wrong house. He was the one who had stayed quiet throughout the short custody battle following his parents’ divorce, but he wasn’t simple. Something in him had him washing his hands until they bled, double and triple checking his locks, and repeating his sentences with increasing frustration in an attempt to make them come out the right way. Such things were often looked down upon in other houses, but the Hat knew immediately exactly where Lorcan would thrive.

“RAVENCLAW!” it roared, taking only seconds to make the decision. Lorcan swallowed hard and pressed his fists into sides of his thighs, hurrying down to the blue-clad house as soon as the Hat was removed from his head. He looked small as he tucked himself beside Vic Weasley, his hunched shoulders contrasting to her wide smile and wild hair. Still, he flashed his twin brother a nervous grin and sat up just a bit straighter as his name was called.

* * *

Lysander Scamander nearly skipped to the stool, ignoring the whispers about just how much he and his brother looked alike. The Hat dropped onto his head and remarked on just the same thing, earning it an eyeroll and a pointed, “that’s why we’re called  _ identical _ twins.” It had to resist the urge to laugh.

This small boy was so similar to his brother, so wildly creative and intelligent, but it seemed that where Lorcan was nervous and compulsive to a fault, Lysander flourished in the limelight. He was the sort of little boy who got into things he wasn’t meant to. The sheer number of memories of tired and slightly amused scoldings from his father was enough proof of that, though both his parents seemed quick to encourage his curiosity. He was also definitely loyal to a fault, especially when it came to Lorcan. Particularly disturbing was the memory of getting punched in the eye by a bully after he defended his twin brother’s “oddness,” though he seemed to take the entire thing in good grace.

“You’d do well in most any house,” the Hat mused thoughtfully. “A Hufflepuff’s loyalty, Gryffindor’s bravery, and Ravenclaw’s wit make you a strong candidate for any of the three.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take Ravenclaw, thank you,” he said quickly. “I don’t want to leave my brother all alone there.”

“You’re sure?” the Hat asked. If it had eyebrows, it would have raised them. “That’s a very noble thing for a boy your age to think. You could fit in well in Gryffindor.”

Lysander nodded furiously. “You said I have a Ravenclaw’s wit. Do you think I can belong there?”

The Hat scoffed. “Of course. I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t so,” it said firmly. The small boy beneath it set his jaw, lifting his chin. He was silently standing his ground, almost daring the Sorting Hat to place him anywhere else. The Hat wondered what he’d do if it placed him in Gryffindor - possibly ignore it entirely and stay in Ravenclaw with his twin.

Still, the boy was right. He was as whip smart as his brother, and twice as creative. He definitely valued wisdom and wit above most things, and the Hat supposed that wasn’t surprising given who his mother was. It hummed thoughtfully again before tearing at the seam, suddenly aware the boy was dangerously close to becoming a Hatstall. “Ravenclaw!” it cried. 

Lysander slid of the stool and strode confidently to his brother’s side, sending the boy a grin and launching into a conversation with Vic about something he’d heard from his father’s last letter. The Hat would have nodded, had it been on a head. Yes, Lysander was an odd sort of Ravenclaw, but he would do well amongst the eagle’s nest.

* * *

Rowan Wood plopped onto the seat and hunched her shoulders. The moment the Hat covered her head, somewhat impeded by her wild red curls, she began chewing on her lower lip, curling her toes anxiously inside of her shiny new shoes.

“The final Wood girl,” the Hat said, half-interested. “Your sister wasn’t kidding when she said you’d all be right after each other.”

“Yes sir,” she agreed, voice shaking even from inside of her head. “Can you please sort me quickly?”

The Hat chuckled and sorted past her nerves, looking interestedly into her memories. Like her sisters, Rowan was adopted at a young age, and most of her earliest memories were of bouncing between foster homes. The sheer force of will it had taken to keep up her spirits in some of them were nearly enough alone to send her to Gryffindor. But then, oh then, the Hat found a memory from that summer.

There was an accident while her older sisters were playing Quidditch, one that caused Ivy to fall off her broom from far, far too high up and left her permanently injured. Rowan had watched the whole thing from inside the house, dark eyes wide as her sister fell to the ground as limp as a rag doll and blood covered the pitch. She’d remained calm and levelheaded enough to get their father and a healer, and had bent over her oldest sister’s broken and bloodied body, doing everything that was asked of her to get her into a stable condition. 

The Hat doubted it had ever seen a small child so brave in such a horrible circumstance. That was enough to quickly make a decision. “GRYFFINDOR!” it announced, causing the tall girl to jump and flush bright red underneath her freckles.

When she scurried down to the Gryffindor table, nearly tripping over her feet in response, and was hugged tightly by Ivy - now in a wheelchair and half-blind but  _ alive _ half thanks to Rowan’s fortitude - the Hat could almost see a lion’s tail waving through the air behind her.


	5. The Sorting of 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note: Molly is a trans girl who has not yet realized she is a girl. For her section of this fic, as it is reflective, I will be using she/her pronouns, and the name Molly, but from an outsider's prespective she's still being referred to as a boy - this is because they (the hat, her cousins, and Lucy, etc) don't yet know that she is a girl; it's still a few years before Molly really, truly makes the connection herself. I've had a few of my trans friends read over this bit, and they thought it made sense. I would never intend to make anyone uncomfortable with my work.
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Sean Finnegan moved so much he seemed to be constantly vibrating, his long fingers tapping on his legs, his arms, the side of the stool. His light eyes moved constantly behind his eyelids, as if he was trying to look around in the darkness somehow. The Hat settled over his eyes and just above the edge of his nose. 

“Are you excited?” it asked, amused. Sean nodded rapidly, nearly causing the Hat to go flying off of his head.

The Hat chuckled and began sorting through memories of the tall boy. There were plenty of delightful ones that could easily have placed him in Hufflepuff, memories of time spent laughing with siblings and using his cherub cheeks of childhood to sell goods at his father’s pub. There were plenty of memories of him rolling in the grass, tumbling off his broom until he good enough to hold on tight. 

But there was something else. Stuck inside him was an anger and determination. There was plenty of happiness, of kindness, but there was also a fierceness there that could not be contained, a fire burning in the pit of his stomach. There were memories of him pulling his siblings protectively into his arms under the glares of his grandparents and their utterances about dirty blood, there were memories of him stepping forward to take blame when their mother raged against them. There was, most significantly, a memory that was tucked away, almost as if Sean himself would rather forget it, of   shoving his brother and sister into his room and screaming himself hoarse until his face lit up with a bright, bright red while his mother screeched back.

“It had better be GRYFFINDOR!” the Hat roared, and the boy leaped up to the applause, a grin splitting across his face. This boy was a lion with a heart of gold, who breathed flame with every word. He ran to the table and threw himself down, nearly unable to contain his own cheers and sheer excitement from being sorted into the house of his father. 

* * *

Molly Weasley was still a boy named Arthur when she sat beneath the Hat, trembling with anticipation. She shut her eyes tight and swallowed hard, fingers curling in the stiff fabric of her brand new pants. The Hat fell down over her face, landing gently somewhere on the bridge of her long nose and catching a bit on her glasses.

“Another Arthur Weasley, eh?” the Hat grinned, picking gently at the kid’s brain. “Shy, like him, but a great deal more book-smart. Much like your father - that Percival Weasley insisted on Gryffindor, but he was a near-perfect Slytherin candidate.”

This was new information to Molly, who filed it carefully away in the back of her mind. “Call me A, please,” she thought, her full name making her shift uncomfortably. She could never quite explain why she didn’t like her name back then. It fell somewhere in the realm of things that didn’t fit about herself at the time, along with the shortness of her red hair that her father insisted she maintain and the way her girl cousins immediately classified her as one of the messy, annoying boys.

“Alright then, A,” the Hat chuckled. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you know.” Molly smiled, moving her hands to pick at her carefully manicured nails - she’d gotten Vic and her Aunt Fleur to paint a pale, natural pink the night before. 

The Hat picked through her memories, memories of a tall, thin boy with with dark eyes and a serious nature. She’d spent most of her time at muggle primary school in a corner with books, gaining far more understanding than necessary for each of his subjects. She was a studious child with an intelligence far surpassing her years. Molly wanted to know everything she possibly could. It helped that she never got along with her classmates, especially the rough-and-tumble boys that were really much more like her twin sister, Lucy.

“You’re much like your father,” it said finally. “But you lack the ambition that drives him. You are driven by a desire for information rather than success. For you, A, it had better be RAVENCLAW.”

Molly hurried to the Ravenclaw table to sit beside Vic, a huge smile on her freckled face. She knew he belonged amongst the Ravenclaws, even if her twin sister thought it was a house full of boring nerds. She didn’t care what Lucy thought anyway. She was where she belonged.

 

* * *

 

Fred Weasley the Second strode to the stoll with a false confidence and a smirk, as if he was nothing but exactly like his namesake. But the moment the Hat dropped over his head, resting carefully on his messy dreadlocks, he bit his lip and tilted his head forward. The Hat recognized his desire to hide, but there really wasn’t anywhere for the boy to go.

“Creativity clearly wasn’t you parents’ strong suit, Fred Weasley,” it chuckled. The boy smiled a little drily, a little of the fear leaving his body.

“Wish that was true, but my dad owns the most popular joke shop in the the British Wizarding World, so I doubt it,” he admitted. “And it’s Freddie, actually.”

“Cursed you to a lot of struggle is what he did,” the Hat said easily. That much was clear even looking back. He’d spent much of his childhood playing in Quidditch Little League, even though he was scared of heights, because it made his father happy. Much of his memories, it seemed, were of doing things he didn’t want to, just because it made his father happy - things like pulling pranks on his sister, mother, and cousins, eating mashed potatoes that had been his late uncle’s favorite recipe, and helping advertise the joke shop though he was terrified of strangers. Freddie’s younger sister seemed to be the one to get him out of whatever he didn’t want to do.

Somehow, he sucked it up and pushed himself to do whatever was asked of him, no matter how scared he was. And this is what made the Hat pause in its assessment just as it was ready to send him to Hufflepuff. Because there was something required more bravery than most people had in them.

“You’d do well in Hufflepuff,” it started, observing the way that Freddie seemed crestfallen. “However, you would fair even better in GRYFFINDOR!”

The table erupted into cheers and Freddie, despite his fear at the very prospect of his parents’ house, strode easily to the table with a well-practice grin. He settled next to Ivy and Rowan Wood at the end of the table - family friends who were familiar and could help him calm his nerves. He could see his cousins cheering from their tables across the hall, and his shoulders relaxed.

Maybe he really could belong in Gryffindor.

* * *

Lucy Weasley stomped up to the stool, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder. Much like on her brother, the Hat rested comfortable on the bridge of her long nose, prevented only from slipping further by the frames of her glasses catching on the ancient fabric. She crossed her arms definitely over her chest and popped her Droobles Best Chewing Gum, something she had a habit of doing to make herself appear cooler. She screwed her eyes up tight, ignoring every one of the Hat’s attempts at conversation with an annoyed mumble of “just sort me already.”

The Hat knew she didn’t mean it the way it came off. She was angry, just witnessing her brother, Arthur, sorted into the only house she knew for sure she could never belong in. Her cheeks had heated up with anger and her neck and ears had burned Weasley red at the thought. Because they fought endlessly, but in the end he was still her twin brother and thus her best friend in the world. If they weren’t in the same house, there was no way they’d stay close. They were just too different.

The Hat was interested in their dynamic, and prodded a bit further than perhaps strictly necessary. Lucy was the wild one, always getting into trouble and pulling her brother along their entire childhood. For each time Arthur was rewarded for his success, she was berated for something ten times. And every time she grew angrier, coming up with more devious and ridiculous ideas to get attention or make someone praise her - because being praised for her cleverness even as she got into trouble was about as good as she ever seemed to get.

This was a girl with a snake coiled in her stomach ready to strike, even as small as she was. “You’re obviously a SLYTHERIN,” the Hat yelled, making the girl jump. Her heart sank as she got up, but she flashed a smile full of mischief she’d inherited from Uncle George, and dropped amongst the green drapings of the Slytherin table as if seeing her brother halfway across the hall and the tentative way her cousins clapped didn’t hurt in a way she’d never experienced.

So she was the family snake. That was fine.


	6. The Sorting of 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i legit don't have anything to say here except that lexi bluestone is legit one of my fave ocs ever and jem+roxanne+freddie is a mess and i love them

Alexandra Bluestone had an air of superiority that she couldn’t seem to shake, and that superiority followed her all the way up to the stool. It might have had something to do with the careful set of her delicate shoulders, the flash of her almond shaped indigo eyes, or the way she automatically held her chin just a bit higher than normal so that her nose was snobbishly aloft. It might have had to do with her surname, one calling upon a wealthy American pureblood family that was Sacred Twenty-Eight levels of aristocratic.

Despite all of that, Alexandra Bluestone was really a quiet, timid creature, who preferred to go by Lexi, which she informed the Hat the minute it dropped down to almost immediately cover her small face.

The Hat expected something snobbish, but instead it was greeted with an American accent that shook as she spoke to it, kicking her feet that barely touched the floor. She reached up beneath the fabric of the Hat and tugged the earlobe of one delicately pointed ear that spoke of the Bluestone’s fae heritage, and she chewed on a perfectly pink lower lip nervously.

The small girl had memories of a childhood spent roaming her family’s several large mansions, each bigger and more secluded than the last. She tucked herself into corners with books and house elves as her only friends, knees drawn to her chin in the dark during fancy events. They’d moved to England when she was ten, and her only friends were her myriad of siblings that never seemed to fill her empty house or her lonely heart, so she’d filled the space with books instead. 

There were also memories of the tiny girl spending hours tucked into her father’s technology lab when he was off on business, teaching herself computer science and robotics with a genius that seemed bigger than her tiny size.

“Do… Do I belong anywhere?” she asked quietly, moving her hand to twist at one of her black braids hanging near her elbow. This insecurity came from being the first of her family at Hogwarts in generations, as her family was made of Ilvermorny alumni. Ilvermorny students had little idea what went on at Hogwarts, despite what they assumed.

“You’re an obvious sort,” the Hat assured her. “You’d do well in RAVENCLAW!” 

She tentatively jumped down from the stool and hurried to the loudly cheering table covered in blue, her dark cheeks flushing red. The Hat spared her a glance at the end of the Sorting that night, pleased to see her already slowly emerging from her shell. Yes, she’d flourish in the eagles’ nest.

* * *

Alice Longbottom tugged a strand of her dark hair out of her mouth as her name was called and walked up to the stool with a hesitant sort of determination. She sat down quickly, as if Flitwick would change his mind about her place at Hogwarts. The Hat covered her face, and she pressed her chubby hands together in a sort of prayer.

“I hope you’re a faster Sort than your father,” the Hat said in a jovial tone, and it would have rolled its eyes if it had any. “He argued with me for nearly five minutes. Insisted he was a Hufflepuff, as if he belonged anywhere other than Gryffindor.”  Alice’s round cheeks turned a bit red at that.

“I - He never told me about that,” she stammered, whispering the words unnecessarily. 

The Hat chuckled. “Well, he wouldn’t have, would he? Most people never mention what goes on in their sorting to anyone else. Silly of them, really, most everyone truly belongs more places than they act like. Instead they all walk around, thinking that they’re the only one.”

The girl cocked her head at that, raising her eyebrows. “What about me?” she asked. 

The Hat made a noise of approval at her curiosity, sorting neatly through her mind. She seemed to be the curious sort. Her father had pulled her out of more than a few near misses with his more dangerous plants, presenting her instead with books about them that were a fair bit safer. Her mother, the landlady of the Leaky Cauldron, taught her to mix cocktails quite young, simply because she’d asked. She’d been stumbling around Hogwarts for nearly six years, as long as her father had worked there, because there were so many things she could find out.

She also had bookshelves groaning under the weight of her books, and had already read the textbooks for first through third year cover to cover in the month since her parents had taken her school shopping. It seemed she had a neverending thirst for knowledge not unlike Rowena Ravenclaw’s herself.

“While you’ve got the adventurousness of Gryffindor, your curious nature is what sets you apart from a lion. I think it had better be… RAVENCLAW!” it called. Alice nodded once and carefully stumbled to her seat, looking up to her father’s beaming face at the staff table to calm the nerves in her stomach. She ended up sandwiched between the Scamander twins, her stepbrothers. Lorcan fretted over her bruised leg, where she’d hit the edge of the Sorting Stool on her way up, while Lysander cheered himself red in the face.

Yes, she’d do well in Ravenclaw.

* * *

James Sirius Potter strode up to the stool with false confidence and a smile that made him look distinctly like both his namesakes, despite his dark red hair. But before that, he’d ignored his name being called three successive times with increasing annoyance, until Flitwick had finally sighed, shot an exhausted look towards the enchanted ceiling, and squeaked out “Potter, Jem,” instead. 

The Hat could practically hear the Deputy Headmaster contemplating retirement as it settled on top of Jem’s messy red locks. 

To the outside view, there was only a brief pause before he was sent running off to the Gryffindor table with a grin, but that time was filled with amused comments from Jem and snark returned from the Hat.

It got to work right away, catching on the overlarge frames of the boy’s glasses and thus resting comfortably upon his brow. There were already plenty of memories of daring quidditch tricks and chasing younger siblings through the house flooding the young boy’s mind. 

“Did you notice that I’m loud and reckless?” Jem asked eagerly. The Hat wished it could roll it’s eyes.

“That’s one way to put it,” it replied in amusement. It scanned through a memory of him yanking Freddie and Roxanne Weasley out of trouble before a prank gone wrong, then later taking the blame despite repeated attempts to get them to not pull said prank. “I also noticed you pulling your cousins out of messy situations - that’s very Hufflepuff of you.” 

Jem blushed beneath his freckles. “Aunt Angelina would have taken away their brooms for a month if I didn’t, and Freddie might not have minded, but Rox would have thrown a fit,” he said. The Hat nodded in understanding. “Did you see my quick temper? Mum says I get that one from Gran.”

“I did, I did,” the Hat grumbled, though it was too amused to put any real heat behind the words. Jem continued rambling as the Hat worked, quickly picking out his easy determination, stupidly reckless personality, and willingness to break rules in only specific situations. Something about him reminded the Hat disturbingly of the boy’s uncle Charlie Weasley, which may have been the reason it interrupted his ramblings with a quick shout of “GRYFFINDOR!” 

Jem jumped down from the stool and flashed Flitwick a wink before half-running to his table. He settled beside Freddie, wrapping his best friend and cousin in a tight hug and muttering something under his breath. The easy set of his shoulders fit right in.

* * *

Roxanne Weasley had about twice the energy of her cousin Jem as she sat down, the Hat obscuring her deep red braids down below her ears. 

“Gryffindor had a big head,” she said, only slightly startled when the Hat agreed. “Well, go on then.” She was clearly not much for small talk.

The Hat saw many a memory of the standard Gryffindor. Reckless and quick to stand up for her best friends, Jem and her brother. She was, in fact, in the habit of protecting her meeker older brother from bullies, and hugging him tightly when their parents got into shouting matches that shook the flat above the joke shop. Many of her memories involved designing elaborate pranks that her friends usually went along with despite disagreeing with her. But....

But she was also sensitive and kind and endlessly loyal. She worked hard at everything she did, and it came so much more naturally to her than the Gryffindor bravery. She was not your standard badger, but she was the sort of person that Helga would have been glad to have in her house.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the Hat called, to the surprise of her family and the uproarious applause of the house in question. Roxanne gave a quick curtsy as the Hat was removed from her head, skipping off to join her new housemates and sending Freddie and Jem a wink from across the Hall. She plopped down beside Teddy Lupin with ease, grinning and shoving him off after he looped an arm around her neck and gave her a good-natured noogie. Then she turned to the scared looking first year beside her and offered her hand and a smile. 

This was a badger with an easy smile, but the Hat knew she would be quick to use her claws if she needed to. It was a good thing her friends and her new house would always be there to hold her back.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos give me motivation to write more x  
> come yell at me on tumblr @ moonys-crappy-doodles
> 
> if anyone wants more of this, like for another character (ex, a professor, another student in Harry's generation, the next gen) let me know, I'd be happy to do them in another chapter xx


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